Tigerland (26 page)

E
VEN
though it wasn’t that long a drive back to the Docklands from Fran and Roger’s if you got on the freeway, it seemed pretty dragged out now. Dec didn’t even put the stereo on, so we drove in silence, the only sound coming from the engines of the other cars in the lanes on either side of us. It was accentuated into an almost deafening roar when we passed the sound barriers meant to protect the suburbs from the racket, but which only seemed to funnel it into a more direct source. I had never heard it like that before.

The sculpture affectionately known as “the cheese stick,” because of its bright yellow beams, loomed up ahead, and no sooner had I seen it than we passed beneath it and into the bowels of the city. I loved driving under it at night, when the beams were aglow and they took on a beauty that the nickname “the cheese stick” seemed to denigrate.

“Aren’t you going to talk to me?” I finally asked Dec.

“What’s there to say?” He breathed heavily, betraying that he was still upset.

“Obviously nothing,” I threw back at him, and he almost flinched.

I hated that we were fighting each other when it should have been us teaming together against Heyward. But I was also fighting Dec’s stubbornness and, admittedly, his fucking pride. Maybe I wasn’t one to talk, because I admit I have a healthy dose of pride that also happens to have a chip on its shoulder, but what we were doing now wasn’t working. We had to rethink our strategy.

A few journalists were waiting by the garage door, and as we waited for it to roll open they crowded around the windows screaming questions at us. Dec just stared ahead, waiting for there to be enough clearance to get in there as fast as possible. I found myself staring at one journo in particular, who I had dealt with on a couple of occasions for publicity for CTV. Back then I had been a colleague. Now I was a story, and his spittle was hitting my window as he continued to yell at me.

The security guard for the building held them back as we drove through, and made sure they stayed on the right side of the roller door as it barred their entrance into the underground car park.

As we made our way to the lift, lugging our bags, Dec took my hand. I think he was surprised I let him, not knowing if I was going to put up a fight. But I squeezed it softly, and when we were inside the lift Dec let his bag drop to the floor, and he pulled me in to kiss me.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing my chin with his thumb. “But see what they’re like? They’re relentless. Imagine how bad it will get if I keep answering back to every claim he makes?”

“But don’t you care that he’s lying?” I asked. “That he’s making us look bad?”

“Anyone who knows us knows the truth.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think that’s enough anymore.”

He sighed and slumped against the wall. “I don’t want to start fighting again.”

Neither did I. And I knew I couldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to do.

“Then let’s just agree to disagree.”

Hunched over, he stared up at me. “I’m not happy with that, either.”

I didn’t say anything. What could I say? We were at the same old impasse again.

The lift doors opened, and two girls went to get in, but stopped at the sight of us.

“Is this going down?” one asked.

Dec shook his head, and they stepped back.

As the doors started closing, I saw one of them punch the other. “That was them!”

I could still hear them giggling as the lift lurched upwards again.

W
E
KNEW
without actually voicing it to give each other some space. Dec worked on his laptop in the lounge room while I lay in the bedroom with Maggie, my face buried in the fur of her belly. This was my go-to happy place. Dec’s chest was the other, but he wasn’t making that available right now. The plus side with Maggie was her love wasn’t conditional to pride and other human failings, only to being fed on time.

Maybe I wasn’t being fair to Dec. But right now I was feeling sorry for myself.

Dec’s mobile sounded from the lounge, and instead of letting it go to voice mail I heard him pick it up and speak in hushed tones to whoever was on the other end of the line. An indecipherable cry of conjecture made me roll over and stare at the door as if that would make me hear any better.

“What now?” I asked Maggie, but all I got was her tail slapping me against the cheek.

Dec appeared in the doorway. “I totally forgot it’s the GetOut benefit tonight!”

I moaned, rolled back over, and buried my head in Maggie’s fur again. GetOut was the social group Dec had organised not long after he came out, aimed at helping gay teenagers in sports so they wouldn’t have to suffer the closet. It was a very worthy cause, but one that I felt didn’t justify me having to face the world today.

“It’s a good thing we came back today,” Dec continued, waiting for me to say something.

“We?” I asked, my single word muffled in Maggie’s belly.

“You can’t not come. You’ve done a lot for them as well.”

“You mean you just want me as your date,” I said, and I knew I was being churlish.

“Yeah, stupid that, isn’t it?” The bed sagged as he sat next to me.

“Can’t you just miss it, this once?”

“No, you know how important it is. I can’t believe I forgot about it. All I wanted to do was get out of town so much. Apparently Jill left me a million messages.”

I bet she did. Her star talent, gone AWOL. For someone who was available twenty-four hours through her smartphone and her pager (I mean, really, who uses a
pager
nowadays except for doctors?), the concept of someone willingly cutting themselves off from all technology and contact must have been anathema to her.

“I just haven’t checked them yet.”

“Well, no need to now.”

“She probably left a million on yours as well.”

“I’m sure she did.”

I sat up. Dec was really trying to placate me, or coerce me, one of the two. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“You owe me much alcohol.”

“Sure.”

“And a massage.”

“Okay.”

“And a flying fox strung from our balcony so I can just shoot down the line to the jetty rather than taking the lift.”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

“I thought that might have been the deal breaker.” I gave him a smile, and he looked relieved.

“Just a thought.”

“What?”

“If you want to avoid the lift, how would you get back up?”

“By the motorised pulley you’ll have attached to it, of course. Like a bungee jump.”

“Of course.” He smiled at me, and I felt all my anger drain away. Fuck, I loved him. Sure, I wasn’t happy with the way he was handling things, but he was the most important thing after all. “What are you going to wear?”

I gestured at my tracky pants and Cons. “This isn’t appropriate?”

“If it was being held at Collingwood RSL, yeah.”

“You better not let the media catch you saying things like that. Collingwood supporters are far scarier than anything else that could happen to us.”

“You got that right.”

Craving coffee, I slid off the bed to go and fire up the machine. I looked back at Dec, and he was now lying next to Maggie, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

She seemed to be both of our security blankets at the moment, and that worried me a little.

But I tried to put it out of my mind.

“
A
LL
I’m saying is, it
could
have an adverse effect upon GetOut.”

I must have looked like I was about to go out swinging, because the back of my jacket was bunched up in Dec’s fist to keep me from moving.

“If you didn’t want me here tonight, you should have just said so.” As polite as ever, there was a weary resignation that was now starting to creep into Dec’s tone.

Very quickly, Jill stepped in. “Tony’s not saying that, Declan. Are you, Tony?”

“No, no, of course not,” Tony blustered, realising he was in the process of insulting the charity’s creator. “It’s just that we wouldn’t want the achievements of our young sports stars tonight being overshadowed by the… personal life of the organiser.”

Dec’s hand at my back had dropped by now, and he was lucky that I was able to restrain myself. “Dec hasn’t done anything wrong. You’re acting like this is some salacious scandal”—crap, I was stressed, relying upon alliteration to get my point across—“like a soap star on a cocaine and bikkies bender, not one where a reputable and honoured sports star is having his reputation dragged through—”

“We get the point, Simon,” Jill said frostily.

If I could have drop kicked her like a football, I would. If I could drop kick a football in the first place.

“Yes, Simon,” said Tony. “No need to get upset.”

“He can
get
whatever the damn well he likes,” Dec said. “Come on, let’s have a drink, Simon.”

It’s funny how often everybody says your name when they’re kind of acting like you’re not really there. Except Dec. I was impressed with his blow-out, by Dec’s standards anyway, with the director of the board, especially on my behalf. Dragons came in many different forms to slay these days, it seemed.

There was one type however, who my knight had yet to battle:
Heywardius Pencildickus.

Who now emerged from behind one of the pillars in the main room like Banquo’s ghost. Although if anything, Heyward was Macbeth—the greedy, attention-seeking backstabbing piece of shit that he was.

Yes, I have issues.

Jill, who had been following us, probably to chastise both of us, almost ran right into the back of Dec.

Dec turned on her. “What’s he doing here?”

“Well, I assume he was probably invited here, Declan.”

“Did you know?”

Her grip tightened on her champagne glass. “What are you accusing me of?”

“Have you forgotten that you’re meant to be
my
agent, so it’s my interests you’re supposed to be protecting?”

Wow. Feisty Dec was feisty.

“Don’t you remember that I asked you
specifically
if he was going to be invited to this thing?”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“Because you had access to the guest list,” Dec pointed out.

“I don’t have to stand here and listen to this.” Jill turned on her heel and walked away.

I waited for Dec to yell after her that she was fired or something like that, but he just stood with his hands on his hips, seething.

And all that time, Heyward was watching us. I’m not sure if over all the crowd noise he could have heard the specifics, but he wasn’t so dumb that he couldn’t have guessed.

“Was I too hard on her?” Dec asked.

“Fuck it,” I said, allowing myself to be casually cruel against a person who made no pretence of her dislike of me. “She makes enough money off you to be able to put up with your rare shenanigans.”

“My rare shenanigans?” Dec laughed.

“You know, you should smile more when you’re in public. You’re pretty when you smile.”

“Just what I want to be. Pretty.”

“Or you could keep on the way you’re going and drop the ‘
r
’.”

This only made him laugh more.

I jerked my head towards Heyward, who was now seemingly very interested in some prawn cocktails that looked like they had been made in 1973 and only defrosted today. “How much longer do you think he’s going to pretend he doesn’t see us?”

“The same amount of time we’re pretending we haven’t seen him?”

“I’m not pretending,” I said, swiping a glass of red wine off the tray of a cute young waiter as he swanned by. “I’m steadfastly ignoring him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I really did ask Jill.”

“I never even thought you may not have. But what made you think he could be here in the first place?”

“I don’t know. Your paranoia rubbing off on me?”

“My
realism
.”

“Yeah, rub it in.” As the waiter glided by again Dec hoisted a beer off the tray and chugged it down in a slightly disconcerting way. He caught his breath back and stifled a burp against the back of his hand. “It’s just, he’s gay of the month, you know? This is a gay event. They would have been mad
not
to want him here.”

“Even if it’s your organisation?”

Dec led me over to a small couch which had just been vacated. “You know what it’s like. Their rationale is the more publicity we get the more exposure we receive, and hopefully that leads to more sponsorship and donations.”

“Depressing,” I said, and perked up when another waiter offered us some hors d’oeuvre. “Ooh, party pies!”

“Really?” Dec wrinkled his nose. “I would have thought we’d have gotten something classier than that.”

“Snob.”

“Stomach of a goat.” He leaned down and rubbed it.

“We’re in public, doofus.”

“So? I’m not allowed to touch you?”

I pushed the remains of the party pie into his mouth, and he almost choked.

“Hey, that’s not too bad, actually,” Dec said with his mouth full, trying to cover the social faux pas and possible spillage with his hand.

“Say it, don’t spray it. And I told you so.”

Dec crumpled up the serviette that had held it and stood to look for a bin. He was startled by the reappearance of Heyward, with a journalist and photographer in tow.

“Dec,” Heyward said pleasantly, so much so that I envisioned dissolving him in a barrel of acid and hiding him in a deserted bank, “Maxine from
The Sun
would like to get a picture of us.”

All Dec could get out was an “uhhhh—” Heyward had set this up so efficiently that
Machiavellian
may in future editions of the Oxford Dictionary be changed to
Heywardian
. If Dec denied this opportunity it would only make people further believe the new rumours against us.

“Simon,” Maxine said to me, on the friendliest of terms even though we hadn’t been formally introduced, “it would be even better if you were in it. Just to show no hard feelings, you know?”